


The Phenomenon

by Inspire_me_to_breathe



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, First Kiss, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Making Out, Pre-Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspire_me_to_breathe/pseuds/Inspire_me_to_breathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s an incredible phenomenon that occurs, without fail, at 2.20am in MacLaren’s Pub. It happens every night and affects anyone who is sitting in a 2 metre radius of Barney Stinson. Usually that means just Ted, since people with a fulfilled and happy life tend to avoid Barney the closer to midnight it gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phenomenon

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a quick little slash I wrote late at night. Assume what you will about my life from that. Anyway, this is unedited so there may be mistakes. Sorry for the crappy title. If you have a better suggestion I'd love to hear it. Enjoy!

There’s an incredible phenomenon that occurs, without fail, at 2.20am in MacLaren’s Pub. It happens every night and affects anyone who is sitting in a 2 metre radius of Barney Stinson. Usually that means just Ted, since people with a fulfilled and happy life tend to avoid Barney the closer to midnight it gets. Usually, Lily and Marshall retire upstairs at relatively early hour and then Robin leaves too, offering the excuse of an early morning.

But not Ted. He finds himself pulling all-nighters and drinking until he’s sober again at the request of Barney. Sometimes he wonders briefly during a moment of abstemious drunkenness why he does; it doesn’t fit in with his plan of a successful career and marrying the One before he’s thirty-five. But then, when did anything about Barney ever fit in with Ted? They are constantly warring, battling each other for the role of dominant male in their little group. They both want the history, the stories to tell which will shock and amaze their audience. They both want to get black-out drunk.

And it is in these moments of vulnerability that the phenomenon hits Ted hardest. Like tonight.

Ted is relaxed next to Barney, head titled backwards in what he thinks is a contemplative pose. It’s not, really. Just makes him look tired. But Ted hopes a scholarly type might be attracted by this and, if they hang around long enough for him to see them in daylight, might turn out to be the One. He hopes.

Barney is chatting inanely. He knows Ted doesn’t listen too carefully, so elaborates and spins fantastic adventures with golden words and careful detailing. Ted appreciates the smooth sound of his voice and Barney appreciates an audience, so no one interrupts.

They are good like this. They complement each other without even realising it. Barney talks, Ted listens. Barney jokes, Ted laughs. Barney moves, Ted moves closer.

Because it’s drawing near to 2.20am, and Ted can already feel the effects of the phenomenon. The lights are brightening and people seem to be slowing down, moving through water. Ted watches them. They look like fish, swaying along. He soon loses interest in the strangers though, with their gaping mouths and silver scales, and Ted isn’t surprised, because this happens every night. Without fail.

All he is interested in now is Barney, and the soft glow the whiskey makes as it reflects against Barney’s cheekbones when he takes a sip. Barney’s suits fit perfectly, the lines and contours of his body unfairly apparent. His hands are steady as he raises the glass to his lips. His grey-blue eyes that are yet to be glazed with alcohol, so bright and vibrant! That mouth, a sensuous curve that quirks up in the corner, accompanied with a punch-line.

It’s 2.20am, and Ted wants Barney.

He recognises the dull aching inside of him, and has learnt to control it. These past few weeks he has fine-tuned his body’s response until it is invisible, undetectable. The first night the phenomenon hit, Ted had bolted from the bar, walking with shaking legs back to his apartment where he was sick into the kitchen sink. The second and third nights followed in a similar manner, the fourth night he didn’t make it to the sink, just collapsed on the sidewalk.

The week after Ted would stumble to the toilet and furiously and ashamedly jerk off until the need, the deep, hungry longing, abated and he could face Barney again. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t thinking of Barney, it wasn’t his name that slipped from his lips when he came. It wasn’t Barney.

Ted had considered admitting everything to Marshall, to get a second perspective, but in the end concluded it unnecessary.  Ted could provide his own excuses; he was drunk, he was lonely, it was Barney. Because Ted wasn’t gay. Or even bi. He would marry the One, his wife, and have kids and live in a suburban house and have a dog and drive them to soccer and mow the lawn and drink lemonade and it would be _good._

He wondered if it would be as good as having Barney pressed against him.

So, the phenomenon is no longer such a phenomenon. It is to be expected, predicted, and controlled. But tonight is the phenomenon, because, tonight, Ted doesn’t want to control it.

Ted places a hand on Barney’s thigh. His touch is light, still uncertain, but willing to compromise. Barney doesn’t react. Maybe that’s some testament to the whiskey. He keeps talking. Ted’s hand moves up further, inching closer and closer to where it wants to be. Barney’s voice jumps up a pitch, but other than that, there is no sign of resistance, so Ted takes that as a go ahead, tracing his fingers even further up Barney’s thigh. The fabric is soft underneath his fingertips, but Ted wants skin.

 Barney stops talking when Ted leans in. He’s not quite touching, his breath ghosting against Barney’s throat. He can feel the tremors running over Barney’s skin. There is the faint smell of cologne, and a stronger smell that make Ted moan softly though he doesn’t quite know why.

“Ted…” Barney’s voice is hesitant, warning against the imminent action. Ted’s gaze flickers up to meet his eyes, shifts closer so he can feel Barney’s muscles hard against his leg.

“Yes, Barney?” Even saying his name is hot. Ted feels his stomach clench, and the aching intensify.

“What,” Barney stumbles, his breath catching before he can try again, “What are you doing?”

It’s a stupid question and Ted finds it irritating after the incredible vocal display of a few minutes earlier.

“It’s 2.20 in the morning.” Ted tells him impatiently. He raises a hand to caress Barney’s cheek. His skin is rough, needs a shave, but warm.

“Yes, it is.” Barney agrees nervously, “But what has that got to do with anything?”

Ted rolls his eyes at Barney’s stupidity and leans closer, catching Barney’s lips in a kiss. There’s some resistance, Barney lowers his head and breaks away. But that small, hurried contact was enough for Ted. Barney tastes like whiskey and now Ted does too.

“I’m drunk.” Ted confesses, hoping that will explain the situation. He cups Barney’s face in both hands, not letting him escape. People are looking at them, the regulars who know them are whispering, but Ted doesn’t care. He leans in closer, pressing his forehead against Barney’s. Their lips are almost touching, but not yet. Barney stares at him with wide eyes.

“I want to fuck you.”

Barney makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Ted clambers onto his lap and can feel Barney growing hard beneath him. He reaches out with one hand a pins Barney to the booth, the other hand rakes through the blonde hair and pulls Barney’s face closer to his.

“Ted…” Barney tries to protest one last time, but gives up when he feels Ted’s hips move to press against his cock. Ted drops against him, delighting in the friction. As a sign of surrender, Barney wraps an arm around Ted’s waist and pulls him closer, until all Ted’s weight is writhing and rocking on top of him.

Ted moans his pleasure into Barney’s mouth, kissing him wetly and hotly. He slides his hand between their two bodies and locates Barney’s cock, stroking it with furious movements.

“Fuck, Ted.” Barney gasps.

Ted grins and traces the curve of Barney’s neck with his tongue. He doesn’t care whose watching, not when it feels so fucking good. He can hear a few words thrown about in the air; fags queer, gay. But then someone (is it Carl?) snaps at them to shut up. Good old Carl.

Ted grinds down on Barney’s cock, squeezes his thighs around Barney’s waist. Barney’s hands are all over his back, touching as much of Ted as possible.

“How long-“ Barney bites out, “Have you wanted this?”

Ted closes his eyes, “Long enough.” He sucks at Barney’s skin. “You?”

“Too long” Comes the admittance, and Ted can’t restrain himself for much longer. What they’re doing is indecent; making out in public, for God’s sake.

“Oh, Ted.” Barney whimpers, pressing his face into the curve of Ted’s shoulder. His hips pound upwards desperately, and Ted thrashes in response. He’s so close now.

Barney shoves Ted off him, and Ted looks hurt for a second before Barney grabs him by the wrist and drags him out of the bar.

Ted vaguely wonders if they’d paid for the drinks.

Then they are running up the stairs, taking it two steps at a time. They’re laughing, shoving each other into stairwells to kiss desperately for a few seconds before spinning onwards. Their hands never let go of the other.

Suddenly they’re bursting into the apartment and falling onto the couch. Hands are roaming everywhere as they struggle with clothing. It’s a mad rush. The air feels cold against Ted’s nakedness, Goosebumps erupting without warning, but suddenly Barney’s tongue, hot and wet, smooths over his skin, instantly warming him. Ted grabs at Barney’s naked hips and drags him closer, whispering his name like a prayer or a profanity. He wants Barney in him, but he doesn’t know how to do that, so improvises by rubbing against him like a horny teenager. Barney, usually so eloquent, is reduced to muttering disjointed, passionate words.

“Oh God, _yes”_ He hisses against Ted’s neck, “fucking hell.”

Ted uses the words as fuel; goes harder, faster. He scratches down Barney’s back, loving the feel of his compact muscles and his tanned skin. Loves the feel of Barney’s hardness, the moisture of pre-cum slick against his stomach. He moans, riding the burst of sensation that shoots through his whole body until, finally, exhausted and sated, he collapses next to Barney on the sofa.

Barney is panting hard, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. He tilts his head towards Ted, not quite smiling, almost as if he still can’t believe what just happened. They lie in silence for a while; Barney’s head is nestled against Ted’s shoulder. Ted breathes in his scent.

“Can we do this again?” Barney asks tentatively, but there’s a smile playing across his lips, “When you’re not so drunk.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ted says by way of agreement. His body is starting to ache, so he enjoys the bliss of none-feeling while he can. Barney laughs quietly to himself, and it’s a pleasing sound.

Ted sighs contentedly. He checks his watch.

It’s 2.32am.

He idly wonders if the phenomenon can occur without alcohol, and decides that, _yes_ , perhaps it can


End file.
